Coffeehouse Blues
by GoldenStateOfMind
Summary: For Max, Mondays are just a pain. And on this particular Monday, nothing seems to be going her way.


**Coffeehouse Blues**

Like most people, Max hated Mondays more than any other day of the week. Contrary to the popular consensus, she didn't hate Mondays because it signified the start of the new workday, or the end of an extremely fun and tiring weekend. She hated it because on Mondays, her favorite coffeehouse never sold their signature house blend. Instead, they swapped out their signature cup of coffee for a more exotic blend that contained flavors from all over the world.

It wasn't that Max despised it. No, on some days she actually enjoyed some of the pick they had, especially the herbal and earthy taste in one of the more popular blends. It just didn't beat the house coffee that Max had grown to adore. She loved the smooth, rich taste, and the sweet caramel notes. But even as she stepped up to the register, Max couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

"Hey, Max," the cashier greeted. Almost every employee knew her by name. She had been coming in every day since she started college, but even before then she had been a loyal customer. "House pick?

Max nodded.

"Chocolate muffin, blueberry scone, or a cheese bagel?"

Max smiled. How well they knew her. "Chocolate muffin."

"Ah," the cashier, Darren, said. "Exam today?"

"Final," Max replied grimly. She hefted her English books a little higher to show him. "I am going to die."

Darren shot her a sympathetic look. "I wish you all the best."

She murmured her thanks, handed over a few bills, and headed over to the counter where the drinks were being distributed.

A melancholy tone emanated softly from the speakers and customers chatted about. Max slowly began to tap to the beat of the music. Having spent multiple summers in Tennessee, Memphis to be exact, Max developed a passion for the blues. In fact, her room was lined with posters of Bessie Smith, Robert Leroy Johnson, John Lee Hooker, and George "Buddy" Guy. There was just something about it that just called to her.

"Max!" a worker called from behind the counters. Max lunged for the counter, shoving everyone and anyone out of her way. "I've got one house cup, and a chocolate muffin. Good luck on that test today," he said with a smile as he handed over her items. She muttered a quick thanks a hurried to claim a table. Much to her relief, there was a table for two, right by the window. Perfect.

She started to make her way over and just as she was about to set down her drink, another hand shot forward to make their claim. Max looked up in surprise and met aquamarine eyes that belonged to a boy with light blond hair. On any other occasion, Max would've drowned in the depths his eyes. They were a vibrant blue that reminded her of the ocean. But currently, Max was pissed. Beyond pissed. Did common courtesies not exist anymore? Clearly she had claimed the table long before he had!

"Hey!" Max called out angrily. "I was here first!"

The boy looked down at his pastry that he had just set down moments before. "I beg to differ. Clearly, I beat you to it."

_Yeah, by one-hundredth of a second_, Max thought bitterly. Giving him her best death glare, Max moved on to find another table. But not before she had the satisfaction of watching him flinch under her stare first.

After scanning all the tables Max noticed, much to her disappointment, the only available table was next to a dark haired boy that seemed close to her age. He sat at one of those tables that could seat four to six people, depending on how much space you needed. Well, she did have a final to study for, and it was better than nothing. She strode over to the boy. He seemed oblivious to her presence at first; his eyes were downcast as he scribbled down notes from a textbook.

Max cleared her throat to get his attention. He looked up, startled at the interruption. "Mind if I sit here?"

The boy shook his head, and motioned to the seat across from him, before scribbling down more notes. Max sighed. _Well, it could be worse_, she thought. She opened the current novel they were studying in class, and began to look over the important ideas and key topics they had discussed throughout the course. Being an English major wasn't easy, and sometimes Max questioned why she even decided on this route. But every time she entered the classroom and took part in one of their daily discussions, or even just read a book she couldn't simply put down, she knew she made the right choice.

She brought out a bright red notebook, and looked over her essay outline one last time. Introduction was solid, support paragraphs were well thought out, and her conclusion wrapped up everything nicely. She felt confident. Checking the Mickey Mouse watch on her wrist, Max realized she still had two hours until her exam. She had time to kill.

Max's chair jostled a bit, and a warm stream of coffee spilled on her shirt and onto her paper. She let out a small shriek, more from surprise than pain. _Of all the days to wear white_, Max thought sourly as she hastily dabbed at her paper with a napkin. But it was no use, the words had been soaked strait out of the paper.

"Oh dear," a lady called from behind her. "I'm so sorry. I hope it wasn't important."

_Well, it was._ Max felt like snapping at her, but instead she waved it off and proceeded to write down the work she had lost from memory.

Glancing up for the first time, Max realized that a pair of dark eyes were, and had been for a very long time, studying her. Absentmindedly, she blew a strand of hair that had fallen in her face. "Can I help you?" she asked sharply.

The boy nodded at the book in her hands. "Never liked that one. English major?"

Max nodded, surprised. "You've read _Jane Eyre?_"

He gave a low laugh. "Yeah, and I hated every second of it."

Now this piqued Max's attention. She had found the novel to be rather intriguing and thought the writing was fantastic. There was so much that could be said about it! In all honesty, Max and her professor could go on and on about this book for days.

She shook her head in disbelief. "Then what do you like to read?"

He thought about this for a second. "Well, I'm not a huge fan of literature to begin with, but _A Tale of Two Cities_ was excellent."

Max couldn't help but nod her agreement. For someone who didn't like to read, he sure had excellent taste. Not to mention he was incredibly good-looking. He had that whole, tall, dark, and handsome thing going on, and it was working for him. Max was starting to like him just a tad bit more. "It's one of my favorites." Max agreed. "You've read the classics?"

He nodded. "Mom and Dad didn't believe in television, so all we had in our house was books. Lots of them."

"_Pride and Prejudice_?" Max inquired.

"Bearable. Ever noticed how Darcy never seem to work, yet he was filthy rich?"

Max laughed. She _had_ noticed it, but she still loved her as an author nonetheless.

For the next hour or so it went on like that. They discussed different pieces of literature they had read throughout their lifetime, and even made suggestions to what the other might like. Max carefully pocketed these titles, knowing she'd buy them at the bookstore first thing tomorrow. They even discussed their tastes in music, movies, and even sports. By the end of the discussion she had learned that he preferred rock n' roll to the blues, and swore the soccer was the greatest sport invented by man. She also learned that there was a quiet air to his personality, which was reflected in the way he dressed. Nothing about his clothing drew particular attention to him, unless you happened to find a black ensemble especially appealing. She had actually done most of the talking in their discussions, but when he did speak, he made it count.

"Hey, I didn't get your name," Max said.

"Cameron. Cameron Walker," he said, his dark eyes taking on a mischievous look.

"Cameron, huh? You don't look like a Cameron."

He shrugged. "Most people call me Fang."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

He pulled back his lip to reveal a sharp incisor. "And I bit a kid on the playground when I was five."

Max laughed and nodded. "Fair enough."

"So what's your name?" he asked.

"Maximum Ride. But call me Max."

Fang let out a low whistle and leaned back in his chair. "Now _that_ is what I call a name."

Max rolled her eyes. "I think my parents were high when they named me. But it's grown on me over the years."

"Well Max," Fang said, a tiny smile turning up the corners of his lips. "I've gotta go. See you 'round."

"Bye Fang," Max called, slightly disappointed that their conversation had come to an end so soon.

He gathered his things and walked out of the coffeehouse without looking back. Max watched his form retreat into the distance, before checking her watch once more. Forty-five minutes until her exam. She'd leave in fifteen minutes, but for now she settled for some last minute studying.

She flipped to the page she had left off on, studying the annotations she had made. Right there, blaring up at her, were seven digits; seven digits that she was sure hadn't been there before. Scrawled messily underneath, were the words 'Call me.'

Max grinned.

Huh, maybe Mondays weren't that bad after all.

* * *

**Just wanted to try write a one-shot. ****Review? :) **


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